


Yogurt Is Not Dinner

by merryghoul



Series: Fan Flashworks [8]
Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Community: fan_flashworks, Community: fic_promptly, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:57:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryghoul/pseuds/merryghoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam to Mike: "Buddy, yogurt is not dinner."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yogurt Is Not Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> fan_flashworks: "drag"  
> fic_promptly: Burn Notice, Michael, any other characters, "yogurt is not dinner".

It's not unusual for Sam to enter the loft at night. It's gotten to the point where Michael won't look up from his burn notice documents as soon as he hears the loft door open.

"Hi, Mikey," Sam says. "The old lady's out for the weekend, but the closest Publix is all out of Sam Adams. Don't you hate that? I thought we might have some in the fridge."

"That's great, Sam." Michael still hasn't looked up at Sam. He's eating a cup of yogurt as he reads the files on the kitchen counter.

Sam opens the refrigerator. Inside are a six pack of Sam Adams and six cups of individually packaged blueberry yogurt.

"Mike, did you eat anything today?"

"Yeah. Yogurt."

"Have you eaten anything else?"

Michael doesn't say anything.

"Buddy, yogurt is not dinner. I'm taking you to the restaurant and ordering you something off the menu, even if I have to drag you out off of that stool. You can't survive on yogurt alone."

"Yeah, Sam, I'm kinda busy with these files tonight. We can go out another time."

Sam closes the refrigerator door. He grabs Michael by the arms, lifts him off the stool and drags him towards the entrance of the loft. Michael holds on to his yogurt.

"You're actually eating solid food for once, buddy, and don't give me that 'yogurt is brain food' crap. And you can't get a parfait before, during, or after the meal. Is that clear?"

Michael grimaces as his feet pass the doorway of the loft. This was going to be a very awkward dinner.


End file.
